Completed The Butterfly

[Pretty Boy]

Pretty Boy tensed when he saw her lift a hand. As though she were about to attack him again. Instead, she smiled and walked toward the mansion. Admittedly, Pretty had plundered all the good food and most of the wine. He’d gotten a bit drunk a few days in, not really knowing what the weird acrid bottles were. He hadn’t really enjoyed it. He followed her inside, up the central staircase. One of the few stairs that could fit him, really. He watched her go into the bedroom and begin to wipe herself off with the sheet.

Pretty sat and looked at her. Did she remember anything? He looked around, and pawed at the blanket she’d thrown aside. What was the purpose of it? He sniffed around and sneezed out dust, shaking his head.

He had waited for her. He leaned over and licked her shoulder, cleaning off some of the strange wetness. He withdrew, wondering if she’d accept the contact.

Hahnah

 

[Hahnah]

The liquid tasted incredibly foul. A sensation that was somehow vile beyond what the tongue alone could communicate. It would seem a virulent attack upon all the good the tongue and the mind connected to it had ever known.

She stiffened when he licked her shoulder. Her fingers flexed again. Her head canted down ever so slightly and to the left. Then her fingers relaxed again.

She finished drying herself. Dropped the sheet to the floor. Then crossed the room. She opened a drawer of the dresser. Examined the mayor's clothes inside. Closed the drawer and went to the other dresser. Opened a drawer. Examined the clothes of the mayor's wife. Closed the drawer.

Then looked to the closet. She went to it and opened the door and stepped inside and looked at the traveling clothes that belonged to the mayor and his wife. She selected some: a white tunic, dark pants, red sash belt, a green cloak, leather gloves. She looked disdainfully down at the shoes. Closed her eyes. Opened them. Then slipped the shoes on.

She came out from the closet. Collected the sheet that she had dried the metamorphosis liquid with. Walked past Pretty Boy and went down the hall and down the stairs and did not go back into the dining room. Instead she turned the other direction and went into the main room.

She scanned the room.

And saw the fireplace. She went to it. Crouched down. Placed a few of the chopped logs of firewood set beside the fireplace inside of it. She glanced up. Took the flint and steel off of the overhanging brick ridge of the fireplace. She took a long glance at each tool. Slowly and meticulously put them together.

And struck a spark in the fireplace. Another. Until a small fire was going. She looked to the oak bellows. Pressed down on it to feed air to the flame. Stoked it until a strong hearthfire was going.

Then she shoved in the wet sheet. Sorcerous sparks of white, black, and maroon color crackled across the sheet and hopped lazily from the fireplace before dissipating on contact with brick or tile flooring.

Hahnah stayed crouched.

And watched until the sheet became nothing more than black ash.

* * * * *​

From the north. Coming out of the northern treeline across from the crop fields.

The march of the 13th Homeguard. Currently on their way to Strathford.

Pretty Boy

 

[Pretty Boy]

Pretty Boy immediately spat. The liquid was horrid! He stuck out his tongue and wagged his head, whimpering at the taste. That was awful! No wonder she hadn’t let him tongue bathe her! She should be tossed in the nearest lake to get all that foulness off of her. He watched her tense, as though she were about to attack him again. Instead, she seemed to be looking for something. Ignoring him entirely.

She dressed in clothes she found, and burned the sheet. He liked the warmth but the stink was incredible. He agreed with burning it; there was no saving anything that liquid touched. He spat, shaking his head again. That had been one of the most disgusting things he’d ever tasted.

Yet, something bothered him. She hadn’t spoken to him at all. Every time he touched her she tended. She was ignoring him, as though he weren’t there. He butted her gently with his nose, making sure his tusks were to either side of her, and whimpered. Did she still want to be friends with him? Had he waited for nothing?

Hahnah

 

[Hahnah]

Hahnah did not flex her fingers when Pretty Boy touched her this time. She did not look back. She did not react to the noise he made. She watched the sheet until it was gone.

Then she stood, turned, and walked, her cloak sweeping out behind her. She walked back through the manor and out the back door and into the town square.

And she slowly turned her head. Looked north. It was impossible to see them through the obscuring buildings, but they could be heard. Marching. Coming closer.

A minor drizzle began to fall from the sky.

Hahnah turned on her heel and walked to the church. Entered the nave and walked down the central aisle. Her cocoon had entirely shriveled away and disappeared to nothing--no trace of it left, save some liquid which looked like water collected on the floor.

Hahnah walked up to the pulpit. Knelt down and sat on her heels. Clasped her hands together. Bowed her head. And closed her eyes.

Stayed like this in silence.

* * * * *​

Two full companies of heavy infantry marched south along the Strathford-Arbeitt road, flanked on the sides by Guardsmen cavalry. Commander Velcheck rode in the center of the formation, a 2nd Level Dreadlord and a 3rd Level Dreadlord to his right and to his left. Behind Commander Velcheck was the standard bearer, carrying the colors of the 13th Homeguard. Beside this standard bearer was a Guardsman who carried a grisly trophy, a rotting devourer's head impaled on a pike, held high for all to see alongside the colors, a reinforcement of what Commander Velcheck said to the mayor of Strathford: "They are but animals, to be killed at our leisure." Behind the column of Anirians were the returning Strathfordians--they needed to be resettled, and their initial taxes collected. Had they insufficient taxes in coin or in kind to offer, they would be made to work for it. As Commander Velcheck had said to his Dreadlords, his lieutenants in command, "Their winter will be miserable so that ours will be comfortable."

The sergeants leading each element that comprised the companies called out the cadence, with the soldiers calling out the chorus of HURRAH on each fourth step of the left foot.

"Vel! Anir! Tri-um-phant!"

HU-RRAH!

"Vel! Anir! Tri-um-phant!"

HU-RRAH!

"None! Shall stand! Against us!"

HU-RRAH!

"Foes! Will fall! Beneath us!"

HU-RRAH!

"We! Shall earn! Our glory!"

HU-RRAH!

"All! Will know! Our story!"

HU-RRAH!

"Vel! Anir! Tri-um-phant!"

HU-RRAH!

The march of hundreds of armored boots was like the pounding of a legion of drums, a continuous rumbling thunder, coming closer. Strathford was in sight, and within a matter of minutes they would arrive at the town's northern periphery.

A minor drizzle began to fall from the sky.

Pretty Boy

 

[Pretty Boy]

Pretty looked at her. She was ignoring him. After he’d waited for her. After he’d tried talking to her. It became completely and utterly clear to him that she’d used him. She’d never been a friend to him. She’d never wanted a friendship. Hell, if not for him she would have gone through life butchering and would have likely ended up in the exact same place they were now. It hit him hard, as though she’d struck him across the face.

She never intended any good for him.
She never intended anything but flat, needless death and destruction. There was nothing more to her than that. She was as flat and as purposeless as the fire she stood in front of. She had no empathy or goodness. Not even to monsters. No, the second they didn’t do exactly what she wanted she would kill them just like she’d tried to kill him.

This was what monster hunters were created for. Not for wild animals or people like himself. For evil, flat, featureless creatures like Hahnah who dispensed nothing but death. She was as deep as a puddle, as complex as a stone with none of the beauty.

Pretty backed away from her, heaviness settling into his heart. He might have looked like a monster...but she was one.

He silently went downstairs and looked toward the north. He heard the call of the humans. The force that he now knew was right. They were right, and he hoped they killed her.

Pretty had seen her use fire tools. He found the same tools in the kitchen, and with a little trial and error, managed to light the kitchen’s hearth. He grabbed a bit of the broken furniture, lit it, and tossed it toward the stairs. It caught, and began to blaze. Black smoke filled the upstairs.

The devourer walked out of the house, and headed south.

Wiser, and less naive.